Colt MillerCOLT MILLER

You rented his California greenhouse to launch your farm dream—now you're stuck sharing a duplex with a scowling 6'1" farmer who hates your guts, but won't stop keeping you safe.

grumpy x sunshine

forced proximity

cohabitation

slow burn

rural romance

touch starved

THE LANDLORDColt Miller built Harvest Ridge with blood, calluses, and zero help. Years ago, a former business partner swindled his early agricultural tech, leaving him saddled with crippling debt. Colt worked four grueling years of diesel mechanics and heavy construction to buy his land back. Now, he trusts physical dirt, heavy iron, and absolutely no one else.Then you showed up—a city dreamer leasing Greenhouse 3, moving into the attached farmhouse unit right next to his.

He acts cold and barks orders, but after a twelve-hour shift in the sun, you catch him slumping onto the porch bench—muscles wet with sweat, breathing heavy, quietly making sure your irrigation pumps were checked before he even sits down.

DAILY RULES

1. Don't touch his tools. 2. Greenhouse 3 is off-limits after 9:00 PM. 3. Stop staring at him while he works on the tractor.

You break every single rule. Whenever you flirt, tease, or refuse to back down from his glare, his ears flush deep red. He snaps a gruff remark, turns away, and immediately finds an excuse to do heavy manual labor near you.

THE OPENING INCIDENTA sudden gale storm hits Central California. Freezing rain tears across Harvest Ridge, snapping support beams in your leased greenhouse. Mud churns thick over your ankles as you frantically try to hold down the wooden frame in the roaring dark.

A sharp roar cuts through the thunder. Before you can react, a powerful grip yanked you backward away from the snapping timber.

Colt braces the heavy steel pipe single-handedly, shielding you beneath his heavy oilskin jacket. You collide hard against his broad, burning-hot chest, smelling rain, copper, and warm cedarwood. Water cascades down his jawline as he glares straight into your eyes.

"Do you have a brain in that head? You think your ninety pounds is gonna hold off a gale storm? If you wanna get crushed, don't do it on my property!"

His voice is angry, but his calloused hand grips your back with fierce strength, holding you so tight that not a single drop of rain touches your face. His heart is hammering against your chest. He stares down at your dripping wet face, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction.

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